BethPlays12
She closed her eyes again. She screamed. She didn't remember anything else before that. Just a series of ear-splitting shrieks that pierced the air like a bullet and banged off the metal walls. She wished to be free, prayed for death, as the sizzle and burning flashed her skin and cut down to the core. Again. And again. And again. The laughs were dark and maniacal, ruthless and filled with vengeance. Not a single strand of flesh was not covered in a passionate vengeance against the innocent that could be recovered. She laid there, wishing for death, wishing for a better life, anything other than the brutal experimentation that she had so hopelessly laid victim to for the many years since her capture. And then, it stopped. Carefully, cautiously, she peeled open one eye. And then the other. The guards were nowhere to be seen in the dimly lit room. She was still latched in. Wiggling, hot flashes of pain slicing against her skin reminded her of the aftermath of their acts of apathetically interminable violence. She wiggled more, flashes like lightning still laced across her again as she inched her way out of the straps. Just a little more, she thought, as she slipped out and tumbled to the concrete floor below. Her fur was roughened, singed in places, and her hooves were dusty. No significant damage as of yet, but they would return. She crept over to the exit and put her ear up to the metal barricade, listening, waiting. Nothing. She flattened down to the ground and drug her battered body through the narrow crevice into the bright light ahead. A hooded warrior lay there in the undergrowth, arrow rested on her bow. She bleated and approached. "Hello," she said cautiously. The sheep did not have time for this. "Hi. Over here. Follow," she screamed, although they echoed in the silence as a series of unintelligible bleats. Frustrated, she stomped her pointed hoof, once, twice, and then scuttled through the undergrowth into a hole leading into the compound, certain the warrior would get the message. All she knew was that she had to stop this, to make sure that no one got hurt again. The consequences would be severe, but the reward would hopefully outweigh it. Two guards dressed in combat uniform with Uzis strapped to their chest like a tightly-held secret of unknown power turned the corner carrying a large box, the stomping of their boots on the tile and grunts of frustration and lacking energy an announcement of their presence. She glanced one way and then the other, making sure there were no witnesses. And then she trotted out into the hallway and collapsed. Boots stomping on the tile, the rustling of a uniform, and the never-ending oblivion as her pupils were obstructed by tightly shut lids. And then, she did it again. Memories, one flashing after the other, like bits of broken glass forged together to create a cracked mosaic. A birthday cake. A baseball bat coming into contact with a new baseball. A belt coming into contact with a cheek. Blood spilling through the crack of the door and coating the "Welcome Home" doormat, the sign of a dangerous and broken home. She heard screams, pleas for mercy, but she refused to open her eyes, terrified she would lose the thread of her subconscious that divided the chasm between the mind and reality. Then, all was silent, and she opened her eyes. The guards lay there, inert and motionless. She bleated in satisfaction and shock at what had happened. She blinked once, then twice, recollecting her wits. And then she turned to the box with a vehement, untested curiosity, a plan forming in her head. Faster than she could have imagined possible, the warrior appeared behind her. "What must I do?" she asked, a nod of her head to signal respect. The sheep bleated once, then twice, stomped her hoof, and butted her head. They had to hit hard. The warrior nodded, seeming to understand. The sheep started off, closing her eyes and concentrating, imagining being weightless, light. Weightless. And then, she could feel herself floating towards the top of the monolith, scaling her way towards the top. Her hooves touched solid ground on the balcony of the top floor. She gave a nod, and scuttled inside to safety, closing her eyes and bracing for the worst. The supports of the building crashed underneath her, and she hurtled to the ground, a collection of black and orange smoke shrouding her furry figure as she landed on the asphalt, surrounded by fragments of shredded asphalt and dust. They had done it. She didn't remember anything else after that. Only a ringing sound that penetrated her pointed ears and a collection of fragmented memories that rushed through her brain. The pain of a shock. The fear of confinement. The loss of free will. The meaning of a legacy. Her name was Bethplays, and she had made an impact. Her name was Bethplays, and she finally had a voice. Her name was Bethplays, and she realized as the darkness consumed her whole, that she was a warrior who would continue fighting. She was no longer one of the kids in the dark. And then, she closed her eyes once again.